


This is a story about the sky

by GrantaireandHisBottle



Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: M/M, Smoking, and about the last day of your life, evening sky, first star, kissing in the dark, silly fluff, strong tea, thinking about tastes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 02:12:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrantaireandHisBottle/pseuds/GrantaireandHisBottle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little story about Courfeyrac smoking and Jehan thinking. Under the violet sky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is a story about the sky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ibbyliv](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ibbyliv/gifts).



> Please, please sorry, this story is about nothing. And excuse my English. But I've seen such a beautiful sunset this evening and had a talk with my best friend. So this is what I think about it.

“Courfeyrac! What are you doing?” the frighten voice of Jehan sounds near the other student’s ear.

 

“Smoking, my dear Jehan.” He replies softly, playing with the smoke, feeling bitter taste on his lips.

 

The Poet sits on the floor of the balcony near him. Above them is the sky and the last sun lights are dying, leaving beautiful golden shades on the violet sky. “Why?”

 

“Sometimes we don’t need a reason.” He shrugs. Courfeyrac hates himself for causing disappointment in those green eyes. “It’s all fine. This is only for once. I promise.”

 

Jehan is sitting, his arms around his legs, looking away. His sweater is soft and warm, but a bit big for his thin figure. Ginger ponytail falls on his neck. Cheekbones are pale. Eyes are sad. “When I feel empty inside I write. When R is broken he is admiring Enjolras. When Enjolras is lost, he’s working harder, just not to think about Grantaire.” He slowly turns his head to Courfeyrac. “Why do you smoke? Are you empty, lost or broken?”

 

Courfeyrac closes his eyes, inhaling the smoke desperately. “No, Jehan. I am fine.”

 

Suddenly he feels Jehan’s fingers in his pocket, searching for something. He doesn’t open them, but silently gives his best friend a cigarette and a lighter. Slightly trembling fingers take them. A quiet sound of the cigarette being lightened up. But he can’t resist and opens eyes to see Jehan’s draw. The expression of the ginger haired boy’s face isn’t disgusted. 

 

“You know…”he coughs badly. “I think Grantaire’s lips taste like the cigarette’s smoke…” he grimaces and coughs again. Courfeyrac takes away the cigarette from Jehan’s thin fingers.

 

“And Enjolras is a lighter?”

 

The Poet nods, tiredly leaning against Courfeyrac’s shoulder. “Courf?”

 

The student inhales smoke from Jehan’s cigarette. “What is it, dear?”

 

“Don’t smoke, please.” He shifts himself and puts his head on Courfeyrac’s knees. “Your lips aren’t bitter. I don’t want them to be.” Courfeyrac looks down at Jehan’s face. “You are like strong tea. Not coffee.” He glances in Courfeyrac’s deep brown, almost chocolate eyes. “Because in the tea there is more caffeine. That’s what they say.” He adds, noticing disbelief on his face. 

 

Courfeyrac smiles sadly and throws away a cigarette butt. “Then you taste like…” he pauses, thinking. Jehan is the most unique taste in his life. So strangely good. Like the taste of a morning sun combined with a nice chocolate biscuit, like the glass of rich wine and the taste of the candle light, like the orange juice and the heady energy of freedom. “Like…” Jehan smiles as Courfeyrac’s cheeks become red. “like my Jehan.”

 

The poet’s smile has become even wider. “You see? You can smile without the reason, which gives you a warm aftertaste and smoking…It’s cold and broken. Please don’t smoke, Courf.” 

 

They are looking at each other, alone on the big balcony under the infinite sky, which is slowly turning into a dark blue sea. Like if Grantaire’s unsteady hand splits some ink on the paper and it starts forming a big stain. 

 

“If tomorrow would be the day when you were supposed to die, what would you say about your life, Courf?”

 

Courfeyrac sighs. “I don’t know. That it was a good life. The best one. Because I wasn’t alone. How about you?”

 

Jehan is watching the first star on the edge of the sky, right there, where the end of the world must be. “That I’ve broken my heart.”

 

Courfeyrac’s own heart skips a bit, echoing with a dull pain. 

 

“Because I broke it in two pieces and gave a bigger part to you and the second one to the Poetry. I am not regretting.” The green meets the brown. “Never have.”

 

And when they kiss stars are shining a bit brighter, puddle are reflecting people’s dreams a bit brighter and their hearts are much brighter than the rest of the world.


End file.
